“This is quite the sad little ending to a party, isn't it?”
The Singer murmurs, anger fading into a sense of resignation that is almost painful to look at. In return, the Major – who has removed his hat and exposed his blond-white hair, smiles ruefully.
“Would that we could keep everyone together, but I suppose it's just the three of us, now. I... Ah, how do I say this..?” You both watch the Major, clearly wrestling with some kind of inner demons. Finally he sighs, and speaks.
“I have a son.” You wait, and the Singer waits, and time passes slowly before the Major continues.
“He was born in Kamerun.” His eyes drift shut.
“I do not know what to do or say to him. Can you help me?..”
He sounds so lost, so utterly child-like it's pitiful. For a minute, the Singer stares with an unspoken judgment on her face – then she half-frowns and half-smiles, the wrinkles on her cheeks doing little to hide the captivating glamor that once made her a star.
“You know, nobody can tell anybody how to deal with that. If we all knew how to treat our children better, the world'd be better, wouldn't it?..” She places a hand on his shoulder, briefly.
“But you can't just think about doing something – you've got to do it, that much I can tell you. If you don't follow your heart, you'll end up regretting it – to the end of your days.”
Her smile is now visibly broken, and her eyes cast upwards to a sky that isn't there. Slowly, she drifts towards the entrance Foyer, and begins to sing, quietly.
“It could be – so nice... So nice, so nice...”
You can hear the Major sobbing, quietly. He rises to his feet, and places his hat back on his head. When he smiles at both of you, his eyes are dry – but bloodshot.
“I think I am going to go have a look around. Yes? It wouldn't hurt to see if there's something uncoverable in all this. Yes. Quite...” He heads to the conservatory, and you can hear the sound of objects – presumably planters – being broken not long after.
“Everyone's so damn lonely, aren't they? You try to say a word, and that word isn't ever going to reach them. And it happens again and again...” Smiling bitterly, the Singer faces you with an unreadable expression. “I think – I'm going to go have myself a little drink. If you want to come, I wouldn't mind the company.” She wanders off, leaving you alone in the Foyer.